


Pigeon

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Fluff, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 20:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the request/prompt: Can you do something very very fluffy. Moriarty doing something/saying something that catches Moran totally off guard</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pigeon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HighlandYorkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighlandYorkie/gifts).



    One word is all it takes to turn Moran’s world upon its head, one word said innocently and unthinkingly, with the professor giving no indication that he sees anything untoward about it. It is only when he realises that Moran is still standing there and staring at him much more intently than at any other point during the evening that he thinks to wonder if something is wrong.

   “Professor,” Moran says. “Did you just call me _pigeon_?”

   Moriarty blinks and mentally replays the previous few seconds and realises that, yes, thoughtlessly he has just referred to his lover/right hand man/hired assassin by the general name for the species of bird commonly to be found in the city (and more specifically very often found gathering around the professor when he has a bag of breadcrumbs or birdseed for them).

   “Ah,” he says. “Yes, I, er, I believe I did.”

    Moran is still staring at him, his eyes slightly narrowed, seemingly though more perplexed than something else, something like, say, downright murderous. “Sir…” He fiddles with his collar momentarily. “Why did you call me pigeon?”

    “Because…” Moriarty pauses, struggling to think of a response, in truth because he has no idea why he decided to call Moran by that name. Perhaps he could claim that his mind was on their earlier trip to the park where they had encountered a good sized flock of the birds, but that probably won’t cut it with the cynical Moran. “Because… I am immensely fond of pigeons, as you know,” he says.

    “So you mistook me for one of ‘em?” Moran says disdainfully, and this is not going at all as Moriarty would have liked. Whatever his intention it was certainly not to insult his most trusted companion, yet seemingly Moran finds being compared somehow to one of the creatures he himself generally refers to as ‘those flying rats’ (and that’s rather more polite than some of the insults for them he comes out with) rather denigrating. Before now if anyone was to call Moran by the name of an animal then surely it could only be ‘tiger’, something seemingly far more ferocious and impressive than one of those birds that seem to do little but eat and copiously crap over every rooftop, statue and lamppost in London.

    “No, Sebastian,” Moriarty says, standing up as Moran turns about to stride from the room. “Because I am immensely fond of pigeons and I am also immensely fond of you!” His words spill out in a rush, trying to catch Moran’s attention before he exits.

    Moran stops dead, his back to the professor still so that for the moment at least he cannot see the blush that has infused Moriarty’s cheeks nor how he looks down at his shoes suddenly, embarrassed and convinced that he has said far, far too much.

    “Professor.” Moran turns now, but his eyes too rest on the floor. “I…”

    Both hesitantly look up, their eyes meeting, and they see the uncertainty within each other. Two men who know each other better than anyone yet who still are trying to find their feet in their private relationship, afraid of revealing too much and being thought sentimental and soppy, or of frightening the other away.

    “I am immensely fond of you too,” Moran says at last, and he takes a step closer, and Moriarty takes a step closer too, and then…

    The professor takes Moran in his arms while Moran kisses him softly upon the lips, such a brief, light kiss, yet somehow it says as much as any long, lingering more passionate kiss. And now both of them are laughing, amused both by their own and their companion’s doubts.

    “Professor,” Moran says softly, leaning into the embrace now, pressing his face half against Moriarty’s cheek. “I don’t know as I’ll ever understand what you see in pigeons, but I don’t mind you calling me that.”

    “It was not intended as an insult.”

    “I know, Professor.”

    “Sebastian.” Moriarty runs his hand down the back of Moran’s head, down his back, secretly pleased at how Moran trusts him enough to not merely accept but to welcome such intimacy, and very nearly overwhelmed suddenly with affection for him. Smiling now, he whispers: “ _Pigeon._ ”

    And Moran smiles too.


End file.
